


The Innocent from War

by ProwlingThunder



Series: The Everlasting List of Shenanigans [179]
Category: Exalted, Trigun
Genre: Adoption, Chosen of Battles, Exalted AU, Flaw: 5 point Ward, Gen, Kid Fic, Raksha, Raksha Kids, Raksha get bored and make mini-Creation, Sidereals, The Fairfolk, Writer's Lore, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 15:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8167009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/ProwlingThunder
Summary: Mars sends her hidden sword to examine the new dark corner in the Loom.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neopilot00](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neopilot00/gifts).



> Two and a Number Meme: Prowls, my Sidereal Exalted, plus Vash the Stampede. #19, Grey.

The boy is a fae. It shouldn't surprise Prowls at all, but it manages to catch him anyway. The boy is a  _ fae, _ and spends his time running from the story that has been crafted around him. He supposed it would make for a better story, if the narrative was written around a hero who didn't want to be, if the narrative is two brothers at odds for the world. Prowls isn't entirely sure what to make of what little he knows about the issue.  _ Vash _ and  _ Knives _ are a certain grey area to him; Knives certainly knows what he is, though the constraints of this pocket and the limitations of his own nature force him to play a part.

Conviction and Temperance, where Vash is Compassion and Valor and very, very much  _ not _ aware of his nature.

Which.. must have been part of the narrative. Fairfolk loved nothing and lived for nothing so much as they loved and lived for stories. He wondered, briefly, fleeting, who their parents might have been. If he knew which Pacts had shaped them into being. Which Court had crafted Gunsmoke. If indeed a Court had crafted it at all, and hadn't just thrown things at a particularly orderly splotch in the Wyld for amusement. Honestly, he wouldn't have been surprised. Few things surprised him at his age.

_ Shiny new unattached part of Creation _ was one of those things.  _ Mars sending him on a recon mission _ was one of those things. Not that.. Mars sending him on recon missions was strictly new. Venus showing up to give Her blessing was. The Games of Divinity oft occupied their time too thoroughly for Them to make appearances, even to one set aside from the rest of Their chosen few. He was glad for the extra help, though. He probably would not have made it here without it, and he was holding in reserve the rest of Her Gift for the return trip. But that.. could be a while.

_ I never manage to leave Yu Shan without picking up a tag along, _ Prowls thought, shooting a thoughtful look at the unconscious child curled up against his side. He looked human, really, but Gunsmoke's skies were bluer than blue and the desert sand stretched for ages, not at all unlike the Glitter-Flame Desert, and Prowls had to take great care that he was not  _ inside _ Creation proper. For all that young Vash is fair-haired with eyes of Serenity-blue, every sense Prowls has reminds him that he is not a simple mortal. That he is not  _ mortal _ at all, the way Knives had prickled across his senses the same, when the angry child had bore his teeth at him and stalked away.

Prowls hoped he came back, and not just for his own sake. Vash had been  _ heart-wrenchingly _ sad by Knives' absence. It reminded him somewhat of how he had been, when he realized how many of his siblings had passed back into the cycle of reincarnation and left him alone. That had been... a long time ago. Time had eased the pain.

Time would not ease Vash's pain, however. Faefolk were rarely designed in pairs, and those that were  _ usually _ had matching characteristics, in his experiences. Knives and Vash had been born to be at odds with one another, with just enough mortal essence to feel real emotion.

Vash shifted in his sleep, snuggling in deeper to the warmth of a blood-soaked soldier, seeking comfort from another living being. He had draped his cloak over the child for lack of a blanket, and now he wrapped his arm around him and drew him closer as night's chill drew closer to them. He had already given him a golden flame pendant to ward off much of the cold, as well as a few simple pieces of jewelry-- rings and bracelets-- made of red jade. Prowls had come as prepared as he could, not knowing what he would find here, but giving it up for Vash felt like the right thing to do.

He would have given them up for Knives, too.

He hadn't seen anybody besides the two boys, not yet. Perhaps not ever. If this was all there was, he wasn't sure what he was going to do about it. Mars had always charged him with a soft heart, but could he safely take them back to Creation? What would a trip through the Wyld do to them, settled in a pocket of order, born here? Did he  _ have _ enough essence and artifacts to keep them safe? Would the nature of the Wyld rip them apart? Would their parents notice their departure? He was too far away from Yu Shan to expect any kind of aid, and indeed too far away to even get a message to someone back home.

The little pocket  _ did _ show up in the Loom of Fate, in a dark, hidden corner guarded by shadows and devoid of pattern-spiders, woven by frayed strands snapping into place, he thought. But poking at it wouldn't do anything, and the only one he could talk to about it could talk to no one else.

_ "You're upset," _ Vash mumbled. Prowls felt a spear of guilt strike through his chest. The gemstone of spoken language may have ensured Prowls understood them, and they him, but it did little to remind him that Fairfolk fed on emotion. Vash was a being of Compassion and Valor; Prowls thought fear must taste bad, something sweet left to spoil. The blond head lifted up, peering up at him. For all that he looked young, Prowls thought, he knew too much.  _ "What's wrong?" _

"I am at a cross-roads," Venus' purview. Crossroads belonged to Journeys, be it a journey of the body, of the heart, or of the mind. But Prowls was not a Chosen of Journeys; he was a Chosen of Battles, and this was not a fight. He knew exactly what he  _ wanted _ to do, what the  _ right thing to do _ was. Or what he had decided the right thing to do was.

But was it right for them, or was it just right for him? Could he subvert whatever story their parents had crafted them for? Or  _ was _ that the story? Prowls had been alive a long time. His name was forgotten, as all Sidereals were, but he had left ripples behind, and they grew as they spread. Were it a trap, his own virtues would send him walking into it, arms wide open.

But was it a trap? And if it were a trap,  _ who _ had it been set for? Fae didn't have to hold a grudge to put a story into motion.

_ "About me and Knives?" _

"Knives and I," Prowls corrected, thoughtless. "And yes."

_ "Are you gonna leave us? Knives made Ren leave us." _

"I have to go home eventually. There are people waiting for me to come back."

_ "Will you take me with you?" _

_ Oh. _ Well. There was his decision made for him, the sort of frail, fragile hope in Vash's voice. He had always been a softy for kids. "Of course."

_ "What about Knives? He won't want to come." _

"You can't force a person to do something they don't want to do, Vash," he told him softly, watching in the darkness as the youth's expression fell. He ran a hand through the boy's gossamer-silk hair in reassurance. "Rest. We'll talk on how to convince your brother in the morning."

Prowls waited until the boy had finally fallen asleep, and then he let himself doze off until the Sun lightened the sky with the distant grey of dawn.


End file.
